


The Note

by Lumeneas



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Comfort, Depression, Exhaustion, Family, Gen, Panic Attack, Rickshank Rickdemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 18:08:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11697072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumeneas/pseuds/Lumeneas
Summary: Thoughts of the note wouldn't leave Morty alone and the guilt was eating away at him.





	The Note

It had been weeks since Rick had broken out of Federation prison and destroyed the Citadel. Morty ran the events over and over in his mind, the ones he had been present for anyways. He was forced to make up anything that happened before the massacre of the Council of Ricks, but he didn’t bother with that much. It was awash in red much like the council chambers so there wasn’t a lot to imagine. No, the thing he kept coming back to was the hastily scrawled note on the side of the pistol that Rick had shoved into his hands. The note that he hadn’t seen.

He tossed and turned in his twin-sized bed, unable to find a comfortable position. Somehow, the thick mattress that he had never had a problem with before seemed hard one second, lumpy the next, and then too soft when he flipped over again. His pillow wouldn’t stay cool and warmed his face too much to be able to fall asleep easily. Even the fan that lazily spun above him didn’t circulate the air quite right, making the room unbearably stuffy.

After more than an hour of trying to drift off, Morty finally gave up. He sat up abruptly on his bed and let his toes grip the scratchy green carpet. Morty stared numbly at the solar system rug. He couldn’t get the note out of his head. It consumed his thoughts, preventing him from sleeping. He had the same battle every night and it showed; the dark bruises under his eyes were so noticeable that even Rick had commented on them, albeit a bit disinterestedly. Even now, his eyelids drooped and his head pounded.

The guilt consumed him. Morty’s heart clenched every time he heard Summer’s voice in his mind. ‘Fake gun, shoot me in standoff.’ His hands yanked at his messy hair. He had fully meant to shoot his own grandfather and he was having a difficult time reconciling this.

Granted, all three of them, Riq IV, Rick, and Summer, had been berating him harshly at the time. Angry heat flooded his face as he recalled the insults tossed at him. He knew he was stupid, but he didn’t have to constantly be reminded of it, especially by his own family. He thought that his and Summer’s relationship had at least improved enough not to warrant such degrading comments to his intelligence. And how could Rick not have at least done something to point out the note? Maybe Rick was the stupid one after all…

Morty’s eyes shifted back and forth, weighing each side of the argument for what seemed like the hundredth time. Most nights, he would just wait until exhaustion took over and sent him into a restless sleep. Tonight, though, it seemed to evade him. He waited and waited, watching the digital clock on his nightstand count the hours before he finally gave up. He opted to instead roam the house. Maybe he could sleep on the couch that night.

He dragged his body off the bed, adjusted his pajamas, and walked out into the hallway. The house was dark, oppressively so. Silent, too. Morty grimaced and shuffled towards the stairs, taking them slowly in his sleep-drained state. His chin bounced against his chest after each awkward step.

The last heavy step onto the ground floor seemed to echo throughout the house. Morty winced at the too loud sound, hoping it wouldn’t wake anyone. Not that it really mattered, but he still felt an obligation to let his family sleep.

The street lights outside cast a soft, warm glow on the living room through the uncovered window. It seemed more welcoming than his bedroom upstairs and he let himself bathe in the dull sensation of what few good memories he had of the room: Ball Fondlers, with Rick and Summer, Christmas with his dad’s family, raising Morty Jr. the best he could…

He was lost in his memories when he heard a thud coming from the garage. His head whipped towards the sound and he swore his heart stopped beating for a moment. It took Morty a moment to gather himself, then he slowly walked to the garage door, his footfalls dulled by the plush carpet. The movement was out of habit, but when he was face to face with the wooden door, however, he hesitated. Morty gently touched the brass doorknob, feeling the cool metal on his palm. He bit his lip as he considered his options.

Another crash from the garage almost sent the boy packing back up to his room, but he held firm. He took a deep breath before pushing the door open.

Rick was sitting at his lab bench a few feet away, his back to the doorway. A toolbox filled with unfamiliar odds and ends littered the floor with his contents. The old man was obviously tinkering with something furiously, not even giving enough care to keep the box on the table. He was on the very edge on the stool and bent over…something.

“What the fuck do you want, Morty?” Rick belched. He paused in his work to throw an annoyed glance at the boy in the doorway before returning to his work. Morty rubbed at his arm, casting his eyes about the makeshift lab, suddenly feeling that maybe he shouldn’t be here.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said softly, “I thought maybe you might want some help.”

Rick twisted his head around again and raised his eyebrow at Morty. He shrank in on himself, feeling stupid for asking. Just as he was about to turn around and flee, the sound of his grandfather’s voice stopped him.

“Clean up the toolbox and then hand me the wire grafting gun.” Morty brightened at the order before hurriedly doing as he was told. He even knew which tool to retrieve without asking for its appearance, earning a small pat on the shoulder. Despite his lack of energy, the kid was practically humming with pleasure. They worked like that for a while, Rick barking out an instruction and Morty tripping over himself to follow it precisely.

Finally, Rick finished whatever it was that lay on the table. They looked like two, white elastic bands, but the each had a hole in the side of them and two curved discs in the center. Morty, despite having been looking at it for quite some time, could not figure out what it could possibly. His grandfather slipped them on his hands, his thumbs going into the holes.

“Check this out, Morty,” Rick said. He grabbed a block of metal as Morty watched attentively. Rick squeezed his thumbs onto some buttons fixated on the devices and suddenly a beam of light shot out of the discs, connected together into a single line. He brought the line down on the block and it sliced through it like a hot knife through butter.

“Wow, it’s—that’s really cool, Rick,” Morty exclaimed earnestly, fascinated with the way the metal didn’t even drip all over the workbench. Rick scoffed before turned the gloves off and tossing them at Morty.

“Keep ‘em, then. They’re not much use in most situations.” The young boy blinked at he caught them and clutched them to his chest. He swallowed and, against his will, tears pricked at his eyes and the guilt came up to swallow him again. Morty squeezed his eyes shut and breathed deeply through his nose, trying to calm himself from this episode.

He heard Rick push his stool back. “Ha—what the hell, Morty? They’re just stupid gloves.”

Morty’s lip trembled. His head hurt from all of the repression he had been doing the past few weeks. Hiccups bubbled up from the choked off sobs in his throat. He decided it was now or never; if he didn’t tell Rick now, he never would and would live a life of regret and anger and frustration.

“Rick, I-I didn’t read the note,” he gasped out, gripping the gloves like a lifeline, “I shot you, Rick, I—”

A bony hand clasped his shoulder, causing his whole frame to shake in fear. Fresh tears squeezed out the corner of his eyes and Morty hunched his shoulders, trying to making the squeezing pain in his chest go away.

“What are you talking about, Morty?” Rick said.

“T-the note, on the gun. I didn’t—he was going to shoot Summer and you weren’t—there was so much—and you were all—”

Both of the older man’s hands were on his thin shoulders know, pushing down, fingers digging into his skin through his pajamas. Morty dropped the gloves and buried his face in his hands. Whatever Rick was going to do to him, he didn’t want to witness. Just let it be over quick, he pleaded within his mind.

“Morty,” Rick said, “Morty, look at me.”

Slowly, he lowered his hands to see Rick crouched in front of him at eye level, looking at him with a hard expression. Morty didn’t think he had ever seen his grandfather look so…old. The wrinkles around his mouth and forehead seemed deep in that moment that they looked at each other. The old man searched his wet eyes before dropped his head between them and heaving a world-weary sigh.

“I’m sorry, Morty,” he said, lightening his grip on his grandson’s shoulders. He slumped down to the concrete floor of the garage, the very image of defeat. Morty was shocked to see him like this; it was so different than the arrogant, careless man he saw every day. He bit his lip before lowering himself to Rick’s level down into a kneeling position. After a moment of consideration, he wrapped his thin arms around his grandfather, hugging him as tight as he was able.

Rick stiffened, unused to the physical contact, before hesitantly returning the gesture. Morty felt a relief fill his heart to the brim and he smiled into the white fabric of Rick’s coat. They spent a few minutes there on the floor of the grungy garage before Rick cleared his throat and separated the two of them.

“Well, I’m fucking tired and you look like shit,” Rick said. He stood and dusted off his coat. He extended a hand to Morty and he took it gratefully, pulling himself up to stand in front of his grandfather. They exited the garage together and climbed the stairs silently. Before the separated into their rooms, Rick gave Morty one last, long look before ruffling his hair and disappearing into his small bedroom.

Morty yawned and snuggled under the covers. The bed seemed just right for the first time in a while and not long after his head hit the pillow, he drifted into a pleasant, dreamless sleep, his heart light and unfettered.

**Author's Note:**

> I like Sad Morty and Sad Rick. Enjoy!


End file.
